


After Midnight

by athena_crikey



Series: The Queen and I [4]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: AU, Asahi is a fashion designer, Attempted Rape, Confessions, Drag Queens, Guilt, M/M, Mentions of Rape, Misunderstandings, Noya is a drag queen, blame, fashion - Freeform, h/c, sap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:20:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24202741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athena_crikey/pseuds/athena_crikey
Summary: Asahi's mind is a jagged mess of memories and emotions, like splintered glass digging painfully into his brain. He feels sick, sweating coldly in the unheated taxi while a dark stain slowly spreads over his pocket. His heartbeat in his chest feels like a single lonely cry echoing over and over:Yuu, Yuu, Yuu.
Relationships: Azumane Asahi/Nishinoya Yuu
Series: The Queen and I [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1739770
Comments: 5
Kudos: 69





	After Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for attempted rape (mild; non-graphic) and mentions of rape.

Asahi is woken up by his phone ringing. Outside it’s still dark; in his bed he’s lying warm and heavy under the duvet, brain thick with sleep. Groaning he fumbles on his bedside table for it, finally finding it and squinting at the screen. It’s from Yuu. He thumbs the call on and rolls onto his back, holding it to his ear, eyes closed. 

“Yuu, it’s the crack of dawn.”

“It’s already 6:30!” replies his lover indignantly. “Anyway, never mind about that. Guess what?”

“What?”

“I just got an invite to do a photoshoot for a magazine. EYESCREAM. They’re doing a feature on the local drag scene.”

Asahi opens his eyes. “Yuu, that’s amazing!” EYESCREAM is a serious fashion magazine with a wide publication across Japan, and even some international interest. 

“I know! Kitty got an invite too. It’s in two weeks. They’re doing a theme: fairy tales. Mine is Cinderella.”

“Do you need help?” asks Asahi, thoroughly awake now. 

“I’ve already got an idea. But it’ll take some pro work to bring it to life.”

“Anything you need,” promises Asahi. “Congratulations; you definitely deserve it.”

“Thanks babe.” He can hear Yuu smiling on the other end. “Go back to sleep now. I’ll sketch up some ideas and book a consultation with you later,” he jokes, ending the call. 

Asahi is definitely not going back to sleep any time soon, so he gets up and makes some coffee. He can still remember vividly the first outfit of his that was in a legitimate national publication, not just a local community magazine. Can still remember the agony and the exhilaration of putting the finishing touches on the outfit and then sitting through the photo shoot while the model brought his design to life. 

But Yuu, he thinks, probably doesn’t get nervous. He just gets amped up, leading to even more flamboyant performances. He’s got a great personality for an entertainer. 

With his coffee in hand, Asahi starts up his computer and starts looking up images of Cinderella. Whatever Yuu has in mind, he wants it to be perfect for him.

  
***

The base of the dress is a sky-blue corset, a thick poufy crinoline, and thigh-high black pleather high-heeled boots. Yuu lays them out for him, and then shows Asahi his sketches. A tight bodice and huge knee-length skirt with a hem that folds under the skirt to hide the black taffeta of the crinoline. The skirt is full and almost pumpkin-shaped, recalling to Asahi’s mind the images from his internet search.

“We can definitely do this,” he says. “Really, it looks like you just need the skirt. I think the elaborateness of the skirt would pair well with a plain corset, but we could make a bodice to go over it if you’d rather.”

Yuu looks down at the corset sitting on his table. Its panels are satin with black lacing; it’s long enough that it will descend to his hips where it could easily meet the skirt. “I like the sound of that,” he says. “What now?”

“We need two things: a starter pattern, and fabric. If you already had a skirt like this I could make a pattern from it…”

Yuu shakes his head. “Nah, I’m not usually into a big silhouette. Lean and mean’s more my style,” he says, grinning. 

“Then we’ll buy a pattern – I don’t work with full skirts like this much either; I’ve got nothing on hand already worked out. We can go to the store now, if you’d like?”

Yuu nods. “Let’s go!”

  
***

Asahi takes Yuu to his favourite fabric store; it’s got a wall full of filing cabinets holding patterns, books from Vogue and McCalls and Butterick on a table beside them. “A lot of these have Hallowe’en costumes in them; look for something with a similar silhouette to your idea,” he says, taking a Butterick book to look through for himself.

Asahi finds a couple of designs that aren’t quite right before Yuu hits the jackpot in McCall’s; a fairy godmother with an immense poufy skirt. “This is good,” he says, glancing at the sizing chart and the pattern number. He turns to the cabinet and finds the right drawer, rummaging in it until he comes up with the worn paper packet. “Good?” he asks Yuu; Yuu nods. 

Then it’s time for the much harder task; finding the right fabric. Satin would match the bodice but likely be too cheap-looking on camera; synthetics are dicey. Yuu gets excited about a couple of options that won’t drape well over a crinoline, and one beautiful bolt of silk that’s way outside his price range. “Let’s try the reduced section,” suggests Asahi, leading a disappointed Yuu away from the silk aisle. 

It’s there that Yuu pulls out the perfect fabric from a pile of rejected rolls; it’s a soft high-quality art silk, a rayon-silk blend that even to Asahi’s trained eyes falls like silk. It’s discounted for a flaw near the hem, which Asahi can easily use as the bottom hem of the skirt to be hidden beneath the crinoline. And, best of all, its colour is a gradient from sky blue to a deep royal blue. 

Yuu runs his fingers over it, face inscrutable. But when he turns to Asahi, his eyes are shining. “This is it!”

  
***

Once Asahi alters the pattern to adjust for the short skirt Yuu is able to do a lot of the work himself; it’s a very simple pattern meant for beginners. Asahi answers questions and gives advice when he stops by Yuu’s place to spend time with him and enjoys seeing the skirt come together. Yuu gets a bit stuck on how to fold the hem under the crinoline until Asahi reminds him he has to pleat the fabric to replicate the cinched-in waist, tacking it in place under the heavy taffeta. The result is regular folds reminiscent of a pumpkin’s furrows.

Yuu also creates a new wig; this one is a short, thick bob in pale candyfloss blue with a black hairband. He lays it all out the night before the shoot, Asahi staying over, and admires each piece. Asahi knows he’s tried it all on, has perfected his make-up and posing, while alone. 

“I know you helped a lot with it, but I want the final product to be a surprise,” he says happily as Asahi admires the outfit. 

“It’s your day,” says Asahi, putting an arm around his shoulders and pulling him close. “You’ve worked hard for this.”

“It still feels unreal. I mean, I didn’t go into drag to be famous, to get my picture in magazines and stuff like that. I just wanted to have fun.”

“Well, now you’re doing both,” replies Asahi; Yuu smiles up at him. 

“So I am,” he says, and raises his chin to kiss Asahi.

  
***

Asahi hasn’t been to a lot of photoshoots, but he’s been to a few. This one takes place in a large studio with several different bays devoted to different subjects – in this case, different queens. The set for Yuu’s shoot is a dark starry background with a tall black ornate post in the centre topped by a clock whose hands stand at one minute to midnight. Orange paper mache pumpkins litter the ground.

Kitty Pie, already dressed as Maleficent, her horns stupendous on a black skin-tight hood, comes over to chat to him while they wait for Yuu to finish changing. It’s the first time they’ve really talked, although Asahi’s seen her at another event subsequent to the first. 

“Oh, I met Blue through volleyball,” she says, running a thumb down her black pleather bodysuit. Her make-up is in hues of purple, her lips the colour of lilac buds. “Our schools trained together. We both went to Nationals, although we didn’t get to play each other there. I still wonder who would have won. Gives us a healthy competitive relationship,” she grins, her teeth fabulously white. In her stiletto ankle-boots she’s taller than Asahi, her dark-painted eyes glinting. Then she glances over his shoulder and her smile widens wickedly. “Fucking finally, Blue,” she calls.

Asahi turns and his heart catches. Yuu is sashaying through the narrow hallway in between the picture bays, her hands on her swaying hips. She’s created a beautiful rainbow in blue, from her icing-pale bobbed wig to her sky-blue corset, the skirt transitioning from a matching tone at the tight waist-band to sapphire at the hem, her thigh-high boots black. She’s used a paler blue than usual in her make up and white high-lights as well, her eyes huge and innocent. Her hands are gloved, long white evening gloves that rise above her elbows. Her waist is tiny, fragile-looking in the corset, the skirt immense and bulbous. It rustles as she struts. 

She looks stunning, like a fairy tale come to life – definitely an adult’s fairy tale, less powdered sugar and more hard liquor. She sees Asahi watching and pauses, one finger raised coquettishly to her powder-blue lips. Then she flips her hair and grins. “Asahi-san!” 

“You look amazing,” he tells her, and she does. Nothing will ever replace the first time he saw her, sexy and outrageous in a skin-tight mini-dress, but he’s never seen her look so fabulous. Her smile is wide and wonderful, and it makes his heart squeeze. 

He’s in love with her. It’s obvious, of course, even he’s known it for a few weeks now. He hasn’t told her yet though, is afraid of pushing too far, of taking this too fast. But looking like this he doesn’t think he can keep it a secret much longer. She makes his heart overflow – an aching mix of passion, tenderness and desire. 

She raises one long finger and runs it down his jawline. “I’ll kiss you later; can’t mess up my face,” she says as she passes. At the other end of the studio the lead photographer, aware that everyone’s here, calls the queens to receive direction. Asahi hangs back at Yuu’s bay, sitting on a stool and watching. 

Yuu returns soon with a photographer, a make-up assistant, and a pair of photography assistants. “This is Kenji,” she says to Asahi, “the photographer. Asahi, my bae.”

Kenji is young and dressed hiply in torn jeans and a white short-sleeve t-shirt, he nods and Asahi smiles. Yuu takes her place beside the clock while Kenji directs the assistants to position the photographic umbrellas and raise reflector boards. When he’s happy with the light he raises his camera. “Ready?” he asks.

“Always,” replies Yuu, and leans her back up against the black pole. She reaches over her head to grab it, one leg upraised with her foot pressed against the pole, and smiles seductively at the camera. The lens clicks and she moves: looking up at the clock, hands over her mouth in horror, eyes wide; slumped amid the pumpkins, her skirt billowing around her; hair mussed and eyes mad, kicking at the clock. She goes through pose after pose, each a brilliant snatch of emotion. Kenji gives suggestions from time to time: “More pout,” “Give me less anger and more sadness,” “Stick that ass _out!_ ” 

The lens clicks and clicks, Yuu starting to pant in the tight corset as she contorts but still maintaining control of her expressions. At one point she leans in to lick the pole; Kenji gives a bark of laughter while Asahi blushes. 

They take a break for Yuu to use the washroom, the two assistants also disappearing and Kenji flipping back through his photographs. He calls Asahi over to look; on the small screen it’s hard to get a true sense of them but in his biased opinion they look phenomenal. “She’s got the right energy,” says Kenji. “The make-up helps, of course. But for a first-timer, she’s doing pretty well.”

When he’s had enough of reviewing the photos Asahi wanders down the hall, watching a queen dressed as Rapunsel twirl long blond hair, and another dressed as Red Riding hood peek out coyly from within her blood-red hood. 

Kitty Pie is at the far end against a neon green smoky backdrop. Her poses are fierce, her eyes sharp and glaring. This isn’t the sexy fun of Yuu’s shoot, but a darker crueller energy. Asahi watches for a minute but it’s not attractive to him in the way Blue Thunder is – it’s the buoyant heart that she brings to her performance that Asahi loves. 

He glances at the clock and sees it’s been more than five minutes since Yuu went to the bathroom. He wonders briefly if she’s touching up her make-up, but he spots the make-up assistant down chatting with Kenji. A costume problem? 

Concerned about the possibility of the skirt coming untacked from the crinoline he seeks out the bathroom. Just as he’s about to enter the men’s he hears a heavy thump from inside. And then: “Get _off_ , you fucker.”

Yuu.

Asahi slams into the bathroom to find Yuu pinned up against the wall by one of the photography assistants, his hands pinning her wrists to the wall above her head. His leg is pressed forward beneath her skirt, knee raised high to splay her legs. Yuu’s lipstick is smeared, her eyes shining furiously. He looks over at Asahi to say something and she tries to break free, arms twisting against his grip. Then, before he can speak, she slams her knee up into his groin.

The man collapses onto the floor on his hands and knees, clutching himself. Yuu, free, moves to stand above him, her face tight with rage. Her gloved hand is fisted, and in a moment of clairvoyance Asahi can see everything that’s about to happen. 

He steps forward and grabs Yuu from behind, wrapping his arms around her and pinning her hands to her sides. She makes a noise of spitting fury like a wildcat and lashes out; it takes all his strength to hold her. “Yuu, calm down. Calm down.”

“This prick-rotting bastard just tried to fucking _rape_ me, and _I’m_ the one who should calm down?” she snarls, twisting to stare up at Asahi. Her eyes are furious. 

Asahi stares back, his heart racing in his chest and anger boiling in his veins, tries to keep his voice calm. “If you hit him you’ll lose this job. And once word gets out, any future ones.”

“You’re trying to punish _me?_ ” she demands.

“I’m trying to protect you. Let me deal with him. Please.”

“I can goddamn well fight my own fights!”

“I know you can. But right now, you need to concentrate on finishing this shoot. This is an amazing opportunity for you, and it won’t come twice. Don’t let him ruin it.”

She lets out her breath and relaxes, going limp in his arms. Cautiously he releases her. She stands, back to him, staring down at the man who just tried to force himself on her. There are still traces of blue lipstick on his lips; Asahi’s teeth grind together. “Fine,” she says after a minute, voice cold. “You deal with it.” She turns and walks out without looking at Asahi.

The assistant spits on the floor. “Fucking whore,” he says, getting to his feet. Asahi feels the anger that’s been simmering under his skin blister up into flames. He drives forward, grabbing the bastard by his collar, and slams him into the wall. He’s the bigger man, is tall and strong and right now absolutely _furious_. 

Yuu’s assailant stares at him, smiling slightly. “He’s got you on a chain, huh? Like a little puppy. I bet you do him doggy-style. I bet you fucking cry when he sucks you off with that lippy mouth –”

Asahi throws the first punch of his life, connecting with the man’s jaw and turning his head. His knuckles burn like dry ice. “Don’t you dare talk about her,” he growls, animal hindbrain in full control, his sight bloody. His heart is thrumming in his ears, hearing muffled. 

“That whore? He ain’t worth it, buddy. You think he doesn’t want it? He’s the fucking community bicycle; even takes tips for good service. I’d’ve had him up against the wall panting for it in another minute. You think you’re special? He probably gets out of your bed and hops right into some other john’s. All he wants out of you is your big fat prick up his –”

Asahi hits him again, this time splitting his fist open on his teeth. Pain wells up as blood drips down his fingers, throwing a blanket on the fire of his anger. 

“Fuck, you bastard!” snarls the assistant, pushing against him. “Fighting for a cunt like that? You’re crazy!” He squirms free and shoves past Asahi. “Come near me again and I’ll sue your ass.”

“Come near her again and you’ll be doing it in writing because your jaw will be wired shut,” shouts Asahi, as he bangs out of the bathroom. 

With his departure Asahi’s rage abruptly bleeds out of him, leaving him cold and shaking. He feels dizzy, clammy, his heart thrumming. Blood’s dripping from his knuckles onto the floor, he stares at it, at the bright crimson splotches on the dirty linoleum. Pulling himself together he goes over to the sink and washes his bloody hand; grabs some toilet paper from one of the stalls and wraps it around and around his fist, then shoves it into the tight pocket of his jeans. 

He looks at himself in the mirror: wide-eyed, pale. Despite all the rumours in high school he’s never been in a fight, has spent the past 24 years studiously avoiding conflict. Has grown into the kind of man who lets insults gouge into him without ever talking back, without even raising his eyes. 

His mind flashes back to the sight of Yuu pinned to the wall, struggling, and his fists tense. All he wants is to hit the bastard again. But that doesn’t matter. All that matters is Yuu. 

Asahi hurries out and through the studio to Yuu’s bay. She’s reviewing photos with Kenji; her make-up has been touched up, no trace of a smear. 

There’s no trace of the bastard who grabbed her, either. Asahi watches from a distance while she discusses the pictures with the photographer, smiling naturally. Only Asahi sees her fist pressed in tight to her leg, partially hidden by the pouf of her dress. 

She finishes her talk with Kenji and Asahi catches her eye. She freezes, eyes wide, and then unfreezes into someone else. Someone cold and distant. He crosses over to her. “Are you okay?”

“Fine. I’m fine.” Her voice is flat, void of emotion. He’s never seen that from her. 

“Yuu –”

“I’m done here; Kenji’s got what he needs. I’m just going to change and go home. You should go too.”

Asahi frowns, raising his left hand to her shoulder. “No – I should go with you; you need –”

She pushes his hand away. “You know what I need, do you? Just like he knew? You think because I’m in a skirt you can do what you want?”

Asahi stares, horrified. “No! I don’t – I’ve never –” he becomes aware that they’re making a scene, that others are stopping to watch. This is still Yuu’s first photo shoot, and doing well here is essential to ever being asked back for another. “I don’t want a fight,” he says.

“Right. Just like before. You’d rather talk it out, wouldn’t you Asahi?”

She’s never called him plain Asahi outside of bed before. What should be a new step in their relationship, a new closeness, is suddenly an insult. 

“Blue.” It’s Kitty Pie, striding over all long limbs and bland expression. She slings her arm over Yuu’s shoulders and looks up at Asahi. “Maybe you’d better go,” she says. 

Asahi looks down at Yuu, who’s glaring at him. 

Heartsick, he swallows. “Okay. I’ll see you later, right?”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever,” says Yuu and turns away. Kitty Pie gives him a curious look over her shoulder, and then the two of them are walking away. 

Asahi turns and stumbles out of the studio.

  
***

Asahi splurges on a cab ride home; he wants solitude and security, and also his hand is stinging and aching and wet blood is starting to stain his pocket.

His mind is a jagged mess of memories and emotions, like splintered glass digging painfully into his brain. He feels sick, sweating coldly in the unheated taxi while a dark stain slowly spreads over his pocket. His heartbeat in his chest feels like a single lonely cry echoing over and over: _Yuu, Yuu, Yuu._

He should be with her. She’s just been through something terrifying, something traumatic. And instead he’s made it worse by fighting with her, his words tearing them apart. He fists his hand and focuses on that very physical pain; it’s much easier than giving over to his mental anguish.

When he gets home he goes through the cabinet under the bathroom sink until he finds a box of woven-fabric band-aids and dresses the rough cut over his knuckles. He changes out of his jeans and soaks the blood stain in cold water, washing it with soap and his nail brush. He wrings them out and takes them to the balcony to dry.

Easy, mundane tasks. The sort of thing it’s simple to focus his attention on. But the moment he’s done the memories come back, sharp and brittle, slicing into him: 

_He’s got you on a chain, huh?_

_You know what I need, do you? Just like he knew._

_You think you’re special?_

_You think because I’m in a skirt you can do what you want?_

_He’s the fucking community bicycle; even takes tips for good service._

_You’d rather talk it out, wouldn’t you Asahi?_

The voices echo in his mind as he sinks down onto his bed, hands pressed over his ears. All he can see is flashes of beautiful Blue: standing with her lipstick smeared; staring up at him with cold eyes; walking away, back straight, hand fisted at her side. 

Away from him.

Slowly, the tears come.

  
***

Asahi has cold miso soup from the fridge for dinner and goes to bed, curling up beneath the duvet and wishing he’d never been born.

This was supposed to be a day of new beginnings, of triumphs. A fairy tale come true. Instead midnight has passed and the dream's over: everything’s falling apart and all he’s left with is tragedy and tears. He keeps his phone by his bed, waiting for a text from Yuu, but the phone is silent. 

Finally, just as he’s dropping off, exhausted from the force of his emotions, his phone buzzes. Asahi scoops it up, but the message isn’t from Yuu. 

It’s from Sugar. 

_Go see her tomorrow. Go early_ , says the text. 

Asahi stares down at it, reading and re-reading the two sentences. Then, slowly, he sets his alarm for 5:30.

  
***

It takes him half an hour to get ready, washing his hair and cleaning up his beard and choosing a loose long-sleeved cotton shirt whose cuffs fall low enough to hide his knuckles. He’s not ashamed of what he did, but he’s not proud of it either. In hindsight it simply feels like it was a necessary action, neither good or bad.

It takes another half an hour to get to Yuu’s apartment, the trains almost empty at 6am. It’s March break so there are no students going to club, just a few early businesspeople reading newspapers and thumbing through their phones. 

Asahi gets out and walks the two blocks to Yuu’s apartment building, then up the stairs to the second floor. 

He doesn’t feel ready for this. He’s scared – is terrified. He doesn’t know how to argue without caving, doesn’t know how to have a fight without having it be the end of everything. He’s always avoided conflict, always turned the other cheek. If this turns into a fight, he’s terrified that it will shatter their nascent relationship. 

Heart in his mouth, movements stiff with fear, he goes to his door and knocks. 

Yuu opens the door in a track suit, his hair and face damp with sweat, a towel around his neck. He looks up at Asahi, and for a minute Asahi wonders if he’s going to turn him away. Then: “Come in,” he says blandly, turning and going back inside. Asahi follows, taking off his shoes and shutting the door. “Mind if I shower?” Yuu asks without looking around, as though Asahi were an acquaintance and not his lover.

“N-no, of course,” stammers Asahi, and he goes into the bathroom and closes the door.

Alone in Yuu’s apartment Asahi looks around at the thick press of plants, at the lumbering wardrobe, at the dress-form. Yuu’s costume from yesterday is on it, the skirt puffed out, the corset form-fitting. Asahi walks over to it and runs his hand over the skirt. He never even got to touch Yuu in it yesterday, except to hold her back from her rightful revenge. 

Asahi sits down on a zabuton at the low table, twitching his sleeve down over his knuckles, and waits. 

Yuu’s obviously still angry. Asahi doesn’t know how to deal with that, other than by backing down first. But a relationship can’t be built on him rolling over every time things get tough, much as that’s the easiest option. He closes his eyes and tries to focus on what he wants to say, what he wants Yuu to understand. Because as soon as he sees Yuu’s furious eyes, there won’t be any more time to think. 

After a few minutes the water shuts off in the bathroom; a few minutes more and Yuu’s coming out, towel still draped around his shoulders but this time his hair is damp and he’s wearing a clean t-shirt and jogging pants. He’s holding the ends of the towel, fingers caught in its soft folds. 

He comes over and looks down at Asahi, face tight with an emotion Asahi can’t read. 

“I’m sorry,” blurts out Asahi immediately, without trying to get Yuu to sit – allowing him to have the height and the strength in this conversation. “I know you’re mad. I know you wanted to hurt him for what he did. And I know my words hurt you too. I’m sorry.” He needs to apologize first, then stand his ground. If he can. 

There’s a pause, droplets of water dripping down from the damp tips of Yuu’s hair to soak into the towel around his shoulders. Seconds tick by in silence. And then: 

“Do you know what I hate about being a queen?” asks Yuu, almost as if he hadn’t heard. Asahi watches him, eyes wide and waiting. “Everyone makes up stories about you. It’s like being on stage gives them permission to assume whatever they want about you. Like, ‘oh, she’s a whore,’ or ‘she wants it so bad she’ll pay for it,’ or ‘she wants a man to show her who’s boss.’”

The hateful words come back to Asahi without his meaning them to, spit out in an ugly tone: _You think he doesn’t want it? He’s the fucking community bicycle; even takes tips for good service. I’d’ve had him up against the wall panting for it in another minute._

“I don’t need a man making my decisions for me. I can make my own fucking decisions, and I can look after myself. I’m not a pretty glass ornament that needs to be cared for and coddled.”

“I know,” says Asahi, his voice rough with emotion. “I know you’re not – you’re strong and resourceful and independent. I don’t want to control you; I never have.”

“You don’t think you took control yesterday? You don’t think you sent me packing when I should have been the one dealing with that bastard? He slammed me up against a wall and tried to rape me, Asahi. It was _my right_ to deal with him.” He’s shaking now, eyes bright with pain and anger and maybe even fear. 

“Yuu – what I like about you is your spontaneity, your energy. But it’s also what made you so dangerous yesterday. If you had touched him, it would have been the end of any publicity, any recognition of your drag. You worked so hard for that chance – you _deserve_ that chance.”

“What I deserved was justice.” Yuu’s voice is quiet, coarse. 

“I don’t disagree,” says Asahi carefully. “But you walked away. You understood what would happen if you hit him, and you chose to walk away. That was the right decision.”

“You think I could have fought you? I can fight anyone – anyone but you. You… you make me weak, Asahi.” He lowers his arms from the towel he’s been gripping, letting go. 

His wrists are bruised purple. 

“Yuu!” Asahi’s up before he’s even recognized it, is kneeling in front of Yuu holding his hands. “Your wrists…” For a minute he feels the same fury he felt in the bathroom rekindling, feels it flaring up from the ashes. He can feel his face hardening, feel his eyes narrowing. 

Yuu stares back at him. “ _Now_ you’re angry?” he says. 

Asahi catches his breath, confused. “Now?”

“Well you weren’t exactly spitting mad when you sent me away.” He says it offhandedly, but his eyes are very hard. 

“Yuu – I was absolutely furious. Angrier than I’ve ever been, I –” his hands are shaking. Yuu looks down at them, still holding onto his fingers. Yuu releases Asahi’s left hand and pulls his right closer, rolling down the shirt cuff to expose the bandaged knuckles. 

He looks from them to Asahi. “Asahi, you…”

“You think I did nothing?” he whispers, voice rough. “You think I just turned my back and let him go? After what he tried to do to you? He deserved worse, but I’m a coward and –”

For an instant Yuu stands still, and Asahi watches the mask of his indifference shatter. Sees pain and anger and a swelling relief. Then he’s throwing himself into Asahi’s arms, hugging him tight. “I thought you didn’t care,” he says, his trembling voice muffled by Asahi’s collar, “I thought you felt sorry for that fucker and decided bros before hos. I thought you just let him walk.” 

“I could never –”

“Fuck, Asahi, I’m sorry.” Yuu’s breath is hot against his neck, his voice harsh. His fingers dig into Asahi’s back, his bony knees pressing into Asahi’s thighs. He smells like rosemary and mint, clean, fresh scents. Asahi closes his eyes and drinks in the smell of him. “I’m sorry I was such a bastard, I’m sorry I walked away. I’m sorry I didn’t believe in you.”

Asahi swallows thickly, heart throbbing in his chest. He pulls back, presses his forehead to Yuu’s. “Don’t ever think I would put someone else before you.” He takes a breath, heart so full it hurts. “I love you, Yuu. Only you.”

Yuu’s crying, wet, ugly tears. He sniffs and blinks. “You love me?”

“So much I don’t know what to do about it,” replies Asahi shakily. 

Yuu presses his eyes closed, more tears coursing down his cheeks, and kisses him. He tastes salty, but it feels good all the same. “I love you too,” he breathes when they break apart, his cheek pressed to Asahi’s. “So fucking much. You almost broke my heart.”

“Me too.” He presses a kiss to Yuu’s cheekbone, his cheek, the side of his mouth. Yuu turns his head and they’re kissing again, wet kisses brimming with hope and longing. Asahi draws Yuu more comfortably onto his lap, holding him tight. 

After yesterday’s devastation he feels so lucky, so blessed. They’re each lost in the other, present only in the sensation of skin to skin, lips to lips, tongue to tongue. Yuu is his whole world and Asahi never wants to let him go. 

He doesn’t know how long they sit there, wrapped up entirely in each other. Finally they break apart and Yuu curls against him, tucking his damp head in under Asahi’s chin. “Suga told me, you know. That you were in love with me. They knew it the first time they met you. I wanted to believe it, but… you’re so sweet, I thought maybe you were just kind to everyone.”

Asahi tightens his grip on Yuu, presses him close. “And now?” he asks. 

“Now I know that you can be a bastard to people who hurt me, I love you even more,” he says. 

Asahi lets out a choked laugh. “And I thought you liked my sweetness.”

“Not everyone deserves it.”

Asahi closes his eyes, rests his chin on the crown of Yuu’s head. “You do. You always do.”

“Always?”

“Mm. Always.”

END


End file.
